Unrelated events call for unrelated images.

Last night Martin (the German who's now leaving my in charge of his flat in Dublin while he goes on vacation to Albania) and I went to see a free outdoor screening of the movie Totsti about South African thugs. It was fantastic, if you ever get the opportunity, watch it. If you never get the opportunity, get off your ass and make it happen, it's a good film.

Immediately following that I walked into the street and some Spanish woman looked at me and said 'red'. I responded with 'Huh? . . . Wha . . ? Are you talking to me?' Then things went more or less like this . . .

Spanish Woman: You have red hair.
Confused Grayson: Yes, that's right, I do.
Spanish Woman: I want to have a baby with red hair.

At this point she puts her arm around mine and starts walking beside me in the direction of the closest pub. Within the next few steps she starts telling me about Spain and asks me if I know it well. I confessed that I didn't know Spain very well at all, and also that I was Canadian. Upon hearing that I wasn't Irish, she unlinked our arms and the whirlwind romance was over. Martin and I continued on to a different pub, and the Spanish folk (although they did still invite us to join them) continued in the direction they were originally heading.